Seeds
by nsv91
Summary: Selena Russo is a promising young painter who moves to London willing to make it big in the contemporary art scene of the city. Demi Torres is a wealthy Art History graduate whose luxuries are taken away by her parents after yet another one of her mishaps. When she meets Selena, Demi sees a way to turn her situation around through very questionable ways.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys!**

**I know you're all waiting for TACC's next chapter - which will be up soon, I PROMISE -, but here's a new story!**

**The plot came to my mind last night and I just had to write it. I'm actually very, very excited about this. This first chapter is a bit lull, but I promise things will start to get more interesting on the next one (which will only be upload once I finish TACC).**  
**It's a little unusual given the type of stories we usually find here on , but I really, really hope y'all like it. As I said, this first chapter might come off a little too slow and way too long, but I wanted to fit all of the boring background in it so I could start to heat things up on the next one.**

**It's not gonna be as long as TACC, though. I'm thinking it will have around 10 chapters, possibly a little more. But it's a relatively short story. I know what I want from it and kind of already have drafts of each chapter, so yeah. Can't to continue this.**

**And don't worry - TACC's next chapter will be up soon!**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

Chapter 1

"Demetria, this is our last word." Demi looked back up at her father, who was pacing around in the large office, finely decorated in dark, sober tones. The mixed smells of cigar, musk and her mother's gut-turningly sweet Versacce fragrance starting to make her feel sick. She wiped her eyes blurred by the tears and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling exhausted after the day she had had, and after being locked inside that office with her parents for the past 30 minutes. "We will sell your Chelsea apartment, so you will move back in with us, and you will no longer have an allowance. Your credit cards will be cancelled and you will receive only one with a limit of £3000 a month and I will give you £150 in cash every week, and that's all the money you will have until you find a job. Your car will be taken away as well. You will start taking the underground."

Demi widened her eyes at that and stood from the chair she had been sitting on for what seemed like hours.

"No, dad! You can't do that! I don't know how to use the underground! I'm gonna get lost and robbed, most likely. Criminal rates have been rising at abnormal speeds in this city everyday, you can't possibly expect me to accept that!"

"That's exactly what I expect you to do, because otherwise you'll have to walk. Or take the buses. But you'll lean on public transportation from now on, until we see a significant change in your behavior and until you get a job."

Demi closed her eyes for a second before sitting back down and looking up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, mentally begging for a divine manifestation in the room, a miracle that would change her parents' minds.

"Daddy. Please."

"Stop it. You have just been fined in £80.000 for drug possession. Do you really think you're in position to plead for anything right now? Be thankful I'm not disinheriting you or letting them arrest you." Eddie glared at his daughter, still trying to maintain the last bit of self control.

"Demi, this is final." Demi shrugged at hearing her mother's low voice.

That was it. There was no turning back. No matter how many times she alleged the drugs weren't hers - well... At least, not all of them - and how they seemed to not have payed attention when the CoLP officer said she wans't under influence at the moment of the flagrant when she was driving to her apartment in Chelsea from a party in Notting Hill.

Demi knew she was screwed the moment the officer saw the bottle of pills sticking out of her purse on the passanger seat of her chestnut Bentley Continental GTC - a hint of her father's British-only policy when it came to so many things, _especially_ cars. As it had previously happened when she was busted with cannabis twice before, she tried bribing the 30-something-year-old officer, who was in a very cranky mood, which Demi automatically associated with the worn out gold ring in his left ring finger. The bribe had started at £500, which was the exact amount inside her Hermès wallet, but the officer's surprising denial made her raise it to £1.200 "if you follow me to a nearby ATM", she'd said. The answer was negative once again, but this time it had an additional threat of a bribing report along with her ecstasy possession if she insisted. He then took her into the police department, where they were kind enough not to lock her in a cell or handcuff her. For the next almost five hours, Demi Torres sat in the most uncomfortable chair while talking to the police chief and having her criminal file looked into. As expected, there were no previous charges, which was immensely beneficial, since otherwise it would result in a formal arrest, the chief had said. Demi was allowed to call her family a little after eight in the morning, when she knew her parents would be having breakfast at their seven storey terrace house in South Kensington, just minutes away from where she was.

Days later, the judge had sentenced her to pay a fine worth £80.000. To Edward Torres, Demi's father and the owner of a private luxury jets rentals and selling company, it was nearly nothing. But Demi had received countless previous warnings from Eddie when busted at previous - yet minor - screw ups, such as generously presenting a friend with a £3 million worth yacht, or flying a jet to Spain to attend a music festival, or the latest before the ecstasy bust: booking 32 rooms of the Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo, including the Churchill suite for herself, during the summer to celebrate her 22nd birthday. Even for her loaded parents' taste, those were way-out-of-the-line actions that had been awfully recurrent since she had moved back to London after completing her major in Art History at the University of St. Andrews, in Scotland.

"I don't know what has been happening to you, Demi", Eddie continued, still trying hold himself together "but I'm putting it a stop. No more privileges. You have been doing the utmost with the trust I had in you."

"Had?" Demi internally cringed at her oddly weak voice. The weight of the events finally taking a hold of her.

"You slowly brought it down to nothing during this past year since you moved back." He sighed, reaching for a Cuban cigar inside the glazed wooden box sitting on his desk. "I don't know what you are trying to proof, or even what you are trying to do, but that's all you earned. Or lost, better yet. You no longer have my trust, which is why you will have a very limited amount of money per month at your disposal, and will have to find a job. You have a degree from one of the most dignified universities in Europe, and you better put it into use if you don't wanna live off of that amount for the rest of your life."

Demi took a deep breath and looked down at the perfectly manicured nails harmlessly resting on her lap. "I'm not trying to proof anything." Her voice remained weak and tired, but she didn't cringe this time.

"Well, you will be from now on." Eddie let out a puff of smoke just as his daughter's questioning gazed met his. "You will have to proof to me and to your mother that you are worthy of our trust. You will have to work for it now. Literally."

Demi let her shoulders fall, knowing she had finally been defeated. There was nothing she could do anymore. Or for the time being, at least.

* * *

Twenty one year old Selena Russo was in no way relatable to Demi Torres. Born in Florence, Italy, to a family of musicians, dancers, writers, actors and painters, the latter had always been her ultimate passion. Selena had been passionate about painting since she could remember. The colors, textures, smells, visions and possibilities that involved the process of painting a picture always being her favorite sensation. She was never excellent at mingling and communicating, although she did well when relating with people. She was far from being a good singer or writer, and the performing and dramatic arts had never caught her eye. But freeing the infinite universe of creativity inside her mind with the tip of a paint brush - or of her own fingers sometimes - just to trap them again into a motionless coloured canvas was what she lived for. And what she wished to live off of. But when her fifteen year old self first stepped out of her shell to communicate the rest of the family her crave was to study in an art university outside of the country, the reactions were as expected. With a reason, though. Who would want to learn art in a foreign country when yours had been the cradle to some of the biggest artists in world History? She was born in the same crib of an entire art era, the Renaissance. The Sistine Chapel had come from the hands of a resident of her birthplace! Botticelli, da Vinci, Bondone, Raphael. And those were only the painters! She was born and raised in the same city that had given the world some of the most brilliant artists to have ever walked the earth, and she was giving that up?

Selena always knew it was gonna be difficult to make her conservative family understand her will. And she was geared up to take anything they'd send her way. But she would have never thought, not even in a worst case scenario, her great grandmother would pass just weeks before she was supposed to fly to Leeds, in England, to start her first semester in the undergraduate programme of fine arts, to which she had received a generous tuition-fee discount, along with a financial help. La nonna, Selena's great grandmother's affectuous nickname, was the matriarch of the family and the only one outside of Selena's generation of the Russos to support her choice to study abroad. She never asked the reason behind such polemic decision, or if Selena was sure of it. La nonna just stood by her, "because you are set to big things in life" she had told Selena a few nights before her death when she sat beside her great granddaughter out on the porch. "You are going to leave marks in this world as big as Michelangelo's, Lena. And the only one who can stop you from doing that, is you."

And when Selena buckled her seatbelt on seat C5 in an Alitalia flight from Peretola airport to Leeds Bradford international, she had to reassure herself that was what la nonna would have expected her to do. She had to remind herself of that every minute after her nonna's death, and during every look of desbelief shot at her like a dagger by the rest of her family when she said she would still be leaving.

And after the three years she had spent in Leeds, she mentally thanked her nonna and let out a relieved sigh thanking herself for being strong enough to go against all of her relatives and stick to her plan. At the beginning of her fourth year living in the UK, Selena moved in with a friend to a medium-sized two bedroom apartment in Camden Town, but after Layla moved back to Whales on the third month after receiving a job offer, she had no success at finding a new roommate and was no longer able to pay the rent by herself, ending up at a small and very humid warehouse-turned-into-studio that Orson, a friend from Leeds, had convinced a friend to rent her for a very reasonable price, as long as she took care of his dog, Mel, that wasn't allowed in the building he was moving in to in Shepherd's Bush. Living there for almost a year now, Selena had a part time job as a bartender at a pub majorly attended by local people from Camden, in opposite to most pubs filled with tourists. The owner, Keith, a 43 year old single dad, was a big fan of Selena's paintings and her most loyal client. He had agreed to give her less hours of work compared to the other bartenders with the condition that she would work her ass off to sell more paintings and "work her way to the top". Which is what she did. During the hours she wasn't throwing cocktails in the air at the pub, Selena would share her time between painting and selling her work at a stand she had with a Greek sculptor, Greta, in one of Camden's street market.

Selena loved her life. It had definitely excelled her expectations of when she was younger and tried to create a prospective scenario of what it would be like when she was in her early twenties. She was doing what she loved doing, surrounded by amazing people, in a place where everyone had the chance to be whoever they chose to be.

And that realization came when she stepped into the Nolan Edmund Art Gallery in Hoxton, just minutes ago. Keith, her boss, had invited her to attend the vernissage of one of his close friends, Flor Campana, a well known Portuguese artist who was touring Europe with some of her early works, from the time she was around Selena's age. "You gotta do some networking, kiddo." He had said two nights before when handing her the invitation. "People gotta know your name, see your face. So if they ever say 'no' to you, they'll regret it when you're shit is hanging at the Tate." Selena laughed, but the thought of how much that resembled her late nonna's words never left her mind.

"Lena!" His raspy voice, from being an avid smoker for the past 25 years, echoed behind her. Selena turned around with a smile. "I was telling Flor all about you just now, but she had to go mingle or something." He chuckled before rolling his dark green eyes. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Selena nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

"I'll be right back. I've seen a couple of your friends around, maybe you can find them before it starts to get crowded with filthy rich people licking Flor's sweet ass." Selena let out a small laugh and nodded again before receiving a smirk from Keith, who turned around and quickly disappeared amongst the people.

The young artist took a deep breath and scanned the spacious room soothed by the pleasant melody of Israeli singer Yael Naim echoing from the sound boxes. Even though that was one of London's A-list art galleries, the crowd was very mixed, with some of what Keith would call filthy rich twats, journalists, a few local celebrities, some other known artists, and some aspiring artists like herself. But that was expected. From what the pub owner had said about Flor Campana, she was a big enthusiast of up and coming artists, making herself available as a tool for them to grow in the business by associating her name in "sponsored" vernissages and even bigger exhibitions. He had also mentioned that Flor was anxious to meet Selena, but the girl had preferred not focusing on that. She knew how Keith could exaggerate on his stories, so she tried not getting her hopes too high.

The sound of an obnoxious laugh interrupted Selena's thoughts, making her look around the room one more time in search of its source, which was quickly found when the sound was repeated, only in a lower volume. Selena watched as a brunette, clearly belonging to the category of her boss' filthy rich twats, slowly let her laugh die down and listened to the man in front of her. The girl was insanely attractive, and her lips had the most beautiful shape Selena had ever seen in her life. Her dress was a a centimeter or two too short for the occasion, but who cared really? Daniel Lismore was in the room, for God's sake. Selena kept pacing her eyes through the girl's silhouette, wondering what was so funny to have made her laugh like that.

"Good taste, I see." Selena's eyes were a few more seconds fixated on the brunette's discrete cleavage before she turned her head to the side to find her red head friend standing next to her holding two glasses of champagne and looking at the same girl Selena had been looking before.

"Hi, Jen." She greeted with a smiled when the slightly shorter red head offered her a glass. Jennifer's gaze moved to Selena, along with a smile.

"Hey, Sel. Keith got caught up talking to a hot blonde and asked me to bring you that." She pointed at the glass Selena was now holding before taking a sip from her own. "So..." She gulped the bubbly drink and nodded in the brunette's direction, though her eyes were still on Selena. "Do you like her?"

Selena rolled her eyes. "Psh. I don't even know her."

It was Jennifer's turn to roll her own eyes. "You should. That's Demi Torres. Her father is the owner of Europe's biggest private jets company and owner of the most enviable private art collection in the world, in my opinion." Selena raised her eyebrows in surprise looking at her friend over the brim of her glass. "Yeah. He's spent lots of money on originals and faithful copies painted by hot contemporary artists. Mostly originals, though. He's the man who possesses the biggest number of rare original paintings that anyone has known of."

"But he's a business man?"

"Yes. He's a big connaisseur of art, though, and is passionate about it to the point of spending millions in auctions all over the world. His daughter, standing right there, went to St. Andrews and is friends with Kate Middleton's sister, Pippa, and rumor has it prince Harry was at her birthday last July in Monaco. But that was on The Sun, so no one really knows for sure."

Selena took one last glance at the brunette, whose outfit and jewelry had most certainly cost a lot more money than Selena herself had spent since she moved to the UK four years ago. Then she looked back at her friend and shrugged, a small smile in her lips.

"Good for her. So, did you take a look around?"

"Not yet. I was coming out of the loo when I ran into Keith and he asked me to come find you. Shall we?" Jennifer offered her left arm, which Selena was quick to accept, hooking her own right arm to it.

* * *

"This is rubbish." Demi said under her breath.

"Don't you like it?" Alyson asked a little shocked. She thought everything looked amazing! And to think Flor was in between the ages of 14 and 25 when she painted and draw all of those made them even more incredible.

"Oh, please. Her pastel tones sicken me. And her shaky traces are pathetic. It's so obvious this was all done by a bored out of her arse toddler." Demi scoffed pointing at the unfinished and uncolored draft in front of them of what seemed like a woman riding a horse's bare back at a beach. "Flor has absolutely no technique, she's no better than an uneducated amateur who is advised by their psychiatrist to paint in order to control anxiety. It's pathetic."

"Actually, it's not. Her purposedly apparent lack of technique is what makes her art so unique. Don't you see it?"

"Alyson, Flor Campana's lack of technique is not on purpose. Her work literally looks like ancient rock painting."

Alyson smirked and shook her head at her friend's stubbornness, knowing it would be pointless to keep that discussion going.

"I'm sure you're only still gutted because Margarida Campana turned you down. You've always enjoyed Flor's work."

Demi rolled her eyes at the mention of the name of the famous painter's daughter.

"I am not. It was her loss, obviously. That little slag thought I was gonna fall for her stupid game. She was crawling at my feet all weekend long when she invited us to her villa and when I finally asked her out she said no, thinking I was going to beg her."

"Of course, honey." Alyson chuckled and shook her head before turning around looking for a waiter in hopes to grab herself a new glass of champagne. When she did, though, her eyes were quickly drawn to a shiny red hair, adorned by a slim arc with a horrendous black bow in it. "Jennifer Stone is here." She whispered to Demi, who quickly turned her head in the same direction her friend was looking.

"Ugh. That little nesh wimp. Why does she always dress like a wardrobe of donated clothes vomited on her?" Demi earned a laugh from her friend at that. "I long for the day when she will drop the idea of becoming a clothing designer and stops sporting around her hideous outfits."

"I heard she got an internship at Balenciaga."

"Suits her. He's just as terrible." Her eyes landed on the girl slowly walking next to Jennifer. "Who's that with her?"

Alyson narrowed her eyes and tried to recognize the naturally tanned brunette wearing red leather pants, a white The Smiths tee, and a worn out black leather jacket.

"I have absolutely no idea."

Demi studied the girl. It was obvious her clothes were secondhand, but she had to admit her sense of style was pretty keen. That is, for _her_ style. Not Demi's mostly classic outfit options. Her skin looked smooth and the tanned tone only made it even more appealing to the touch. Her long black hair, with a few lighter highlights, seemed soft and was very shiny. She was wearing barely any make up, and still her full lips stood out from the rest of her face.

"Let's find Lucca. He probably knows."

Demi grabbed Alyson's hand and excused herself trying to make way amongst the now filled room.

"There he is." Alyson pointed to a blond boy wearing green adjusted dress up pants, a white button down shirt and an ivory sweater with dark green details. He was talking to one of the security guards.

"Lucca. Hi." Demi shot the boy her best fake smile, receiving a very sincere smirk in return.

The boy dismissed the security guard and stood in front of the girls, placing both hands inside his pockets.

"Hello, ladies. Enjoying the show so far?"

"Loving it." Demi answered in an overly excited tone that went unnoticed by the tall boy, but not by her friend, who shook her head a little and tried to hide a sarcastic smile. "I need an information, though." He nodded, immediately assuming his professional posture as the assistant PR of the Nolan Edmund Art Gallery. "You were the one who made the list and sent out the invitations, yeah?" He nodded again. "Would you happen to know who that girl is?" Demi discreetly motioned her head at the brunette, who was now making her way to the doors while talking on her phone.

The blond boy scrunched his eyebrows, scanning the back of his mind in an attempt to remember her name.

"She was a last minute addition to the list as a request from Keith Lowell, one of Flor's closest friends in London. I think her name is... Silvia. Or Sandra. I know it starts with an "S"."

"That's all you know?" Alyson asked gently.

He shrugged. "Yes. I'm sorry. The past month has been chaotic. Flor is only the first of a series of exhibits we're doing with contemporary Portuguese and Spanish artists. I've barely had time to sleep. This time I wasn't able to google every name."

The girls giggled, knowing their gay friend was an ambulant database on the lives of everyone, even theirs.

"It's all right, Lucca. So, since it was a request from low life Keith Lowell to invite her, I assume she's one of his Camden artsy pupils?"

"Could be. I really am not sure."

"Or maybe he's shagging her." Alyson added, receiving a glare from Demi and an amused look from Lucca.

"Alyson, don't be ridiculous. Keith Lowell couldn't bang that girl even if he payed for it." Demi took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. "Maybe I should gather some more information. I'm going out for a cigarette."

Lucca and Alyson watched their friend make her way through the crowd, ripping lustful glares from a few men and women.

When Demi stepped outside the gallery, she looked around trying to find the girl. She was a few steps away, leaning her back against the side of a Cadillac, still talking on the phone. Demi moved a couple of steps away from the entrance and in the direction of the girl. She reached for the blue pack of Camel inside her Chanel purse and lit it, taking a long drag and trying to listen to what the girl was saying.

"_Mamma, ma che dici_?" She was silent for a moment, listened to the person on the other end of the line. Was that Italian? "_Non posso. Sono troppo_-" the person interrupted her mid-sentence. "_Non. Il mese prossimo forse, ma prima di questo non trovo possibile. Devo lavorare, mamma._"

Demi mentally slapped herself, regretting not ever paying attention during the whole year she took Italian classes back in school.

"Selena?" Both her and Demi looked at the red head sticking out of the glass doors. Jennifer Stone. Demi cringed on the inside, knowing there was no way to get rid of greeting her this time. "Demi. Hi." The oddly dressed girl made her way to the brunette who had already smoked half of her cigarette.

"Hello, Jennifer. How are you?" Jennifer was trying hard not to give away her disgust when they shook hands, wondering about the nasty places Demi Torres' hands had probably been on.

"I'm superb. What about you?"

"Couldn't be better, thank you." Well, Demi knew it was a lie. Even though she had convinced her father to give her back her car, she was still short on money. But Jennifer Stone was decidedly not someone who needed to know that.

"Hey, Jen." Selena was suddenly standing next to the girls with a small smile.

Demi took a not at all discrete up close look at the girl, amazed at how she looked even better from such a short distance.

"Demi, this is Selena Russo. Selena, this is Demetria Torres."

Demi grinned and offered her right hand to Selena. "Please, call me Demi."

Selena nodded, staring right into Demi's light brown eyes that carried as much lust as Selena's own eyes. "Nice to meet you, Demi." She said after taking the other girl's soft hand in hers and briefly shaking it. When they let go, Demi's index finger delicately and suggestively running through Selena's palm and then though her ring finger's extension didn't go unnoticed.

"Flor will speak in five minutes, Lena."

Selena nodded at her friend, but through the corner of her eyes she saw Demi moving, which made her look at the brunette who had just fished a new cigarette from the blue pack. "I'll be right in." She told her friend who glared at her questionably, but Selena just smiled.

"Good to see you, Demi."

"Good to see you too." She watched Jennifer walk back inside through the thick smoke slowly coming out of her mouth before looking at the skinny girl standing next to her. "So... Selena, right?" Selena nodded, thinking how pathetic it was pretending to forget someone's name just minutes after learning it. "Tell me more about yourself. I don't think I have ever seen you around."

"Probably not. I've been living in London for a little less than a year." Just then Demi caught Selena's adorable and very sexy accent.

"Where do you live?"

"Camden Town."

Demi nodded, feeling her stomach turn at the memory of one of her least favorite neighborhoods in the city. "And where did you live before moving to London?"

"Leeds. I went to school there. I lived in Tuscany before. That's where I was born."

"Oh, I love it there! Where in Tuscany were you born?"

"Florence."

"I love Florence. I've been there a few times. My dad was looking to buy a place there because that's probably his favorite city in the world after London."

"Did he find one?"

"Unfortunately, no. But maybe next time you can give me a few hints." She said in an obvious flirtatious tone that made Selena let out a low laugh.

"I'd be delighted to."

Demi grinned and took one last drag of her cigarette before throwing it to the floor and smashing it with the tip of her Louboutin.

"Tell me, Selena. What are your plans for later tonight?"

Selena smiled. _Score_, she thought.

"You tell me."

"I say we go back to your apartment and talk... A little. You know, I'd love to know you better."

"I'd love to let you know me better."

The girls exchanged smiles before Selena extended a hand, which Demi gladly took, and led the slightly shorter girl - even in heels - back inside.

* * *

**Well, that's it for now, guys. Please, tell me what y'all think, because I'm kinda insecure about this, although still excited, hahahaha. As I said before, the next chapter won't be up until I wrap TACC, so, you know... Take time to absorb this one and give it a thought, lol.**  
**Though I promise chapter 2 will be considerably more interesting than this :)))**

**Alright. See you on TACC!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I couldn't stop myself from posting this new chapter before finishing TACC. SORRY! Lmao.**

**Anyway - thank you all for the amazing reviews! You guys have no idea how happy I was to see you actually enjoyed the story. But I can't help but still feel insecure. That was only the first chapter, and a mere glimpse of what the story really is. This chapter gives a better idea of where it is going, so I guess now I should really worry about the reviews, hahahah.**

**I really, really hope you still enjoy it. I understand it might be a little slow, but, well... It is what it is.**

**By the way, I don't know a lottt of British slangs and idiomatic expressions, so to make it as real as I can, I throw a few here and there, but that's as far as I'm willing to go... I think. Especially because the readers are from all around, and I assume we're all more familiar with American slangs. Also, I might make weird ass references while writing and not notice until I proof read the chapter. So if you guys feel like I'm going a bit too far with them, let me know and I'll build some sort of lexicon at the end of every chapter. You'll see what I mean at the end of this one.**

**So... Yeah. I think I'm done. Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following! I really appreciate it. TACC's gran finale - or not - is coming soon.**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2

When Selena woke up the next morning, her eyes wandered around the ceiling of her studio-apartment before she lazily dragged her gaze down the brick walls covered by her own paintings. It reminded her she needed to do something about that. There was no more room on her walls, and there were over a dozen piles of painted canvas of all sizes laying around her floor, as well as blank, unused ones just waiting for her next inspirational epiphany. It was a monumental mess. Not to mention the amount of paint cans, bottles, tubes, brushes... She sighed, thinking she wouldn't even know where to begin.

Then her eyes found the back of a naked silhouette standing in front of one of the covered walls. Demi's body was motionless while she stared at the part where Selena hanged some of the pictures she painted while still in school, back in Leeds. Those were very special ones. They clearly showed her evolvement as a painter if ever put side to side with the ones she had done back home. Those ones - the ones Demi was quietly staring at - had the same essence as the ones from when Selena was merely a teenager. They still captured her every emotion, but were by far more technical. The improvement was evident for anyone to see. And Selena was proud of that. She loved knowing there is always more room for improvement. Even though she has already graduated, not one day goes by when Selena doesn't find out new possibilities to express herself using nothing more than an empty canvas, a paint brush, vivid colors and her soul.

"_Buongiorno_..." She greeted the naked girl from the bed.

"_Buongiorno_, Modigliani." Selena heard a hint of a smile in Demi's voice, but she wasn't sure since the girl never turned around to look at her. "You're a talented one, dear."

Demi had been looking at the hundred paintings that covered the red brick walls up to the ceiling for almost an hour. She had no intention of staying there for so long. Although the night had been surprisingly amazing and Demi congratulated herself on choosing the newbie painter out of all people in the gallery last night, she _never_ stayed long enough to eat breakfast. She hardly ever spent the night with her _conquests_. But their night had extended itself for hours into the dawn, and they only fell asleep just a few moments before the first ray of sunlight crossed the London sky. By the time Demi realized that, she was phisycally exhausted. Besides, falling asleep against Selena's warm skin sounded way more appealing than having to drive for twenty minutes back to her parents' house. When Demi woke up a little after one in the afternoon, all she intended to do was take a quick shower and leave, preferably before the girl who had made her see stars inside her mind woke up. But then... _Then_ those paintings caught her very demanding art history graduate eyes, and she was speechless.

Not in a million years she would have thought Selena was this talented. And so versatile. She wasn't a landscape or portrait painter. She was that altogether and more. Her traces were so very contemporary, yet filled with all the finest Italian classic and vintage touches. The one that caught her attention the most was a gray toned picture of the profile of a very well dressed man standing at what seemed like a concrete pavement looking down. By his feet, a quiet, large river. The left hand, the one Demi couldn't see, appeared to be inside his pocket. The right one was the focus of the man's gaze, although it wasn't detailed because of the dark shadows from the mixture of black and gray tones. It held something Demi couldn't distinguish. And it made her restless, because she knew _that_ was what it all came down to. The object resting in his palm facing upward. She praised Selena for achieving that. It intrigued anyone who ever came across that painting. The man was obviously struggling alone at night, in a deserted zone of the city, and the reason for his angst being the one small sized object he held. Over the river and to the man's left, behind his figure, a bridge adorned by arcs underneath it. Demi knew that bridge. She had been there, at the same place the man was.

"_Grazie, bella_." Selena smiled and sat up on the bed not minding her nudity. "Are you hungry at all?"

"...No." Demi's reply came seconds later, when she finally teared her eyes away from the painting she had been staring at for the past ten minutes to look at the tanned beauty tangled in the black silk sheets. Her eyes involuntarily fell from Selena's face to her perfectly sculpted breasts, ones Demi remembered being mesmerized by last night as soon as she ripped off the italian's dark blue laced bra. "What is he holding?" She asked distractedly glancing over her shoulder at the painting. The young painter had a puzzled expression. "On the black and white painting. The man by the river. What is he holding?"

Selena smiled knowingly. "_Sur la Seine_." She mumbled out before leaving the bed and slowly making her way to stand behind the body of the slightly shorter girl, who was back to staring at the picture before her. "I took a trip to Paris a couple of years ago by myself. I was walking around the city with my camera in hand, it was my last night... I started off at the Bastille, where I was staying, with no specific destination. It was passed two in the morning and there was no one around. I felt like the only soul alive in Paris. Until I noticed a man standing near the feet of the Pont-Neuf." Selena's mind started to wander back to that windy night, when she thought all French people and tourists had been kind enough to let her admire _la Ville-Lumière_ in her own pace, with her own eyes, hearing the sounds and making them out to be whatever she wanted. "He looked so sad, yet comfortable. He was so au fait standing there by himself staring down at his reflex in the turbid water that it seemed to me like he had done it a thousand times before. I silently got closer to him, making an effort not to disturb his blatant trance. Like you, I couldn't make out what he was holding in his right hand because it was so tiny. So for a little while, I thought of the amount of things he could be holding, and also thought it could be nothing at all. But I was so curious I took my camera and zoomed in his hand. It was still a little hard to define what it was until a sudden light reflected on it and I saw it was a ring. Like a simple wedding ring. No fancy stones, just a regular ring. I zoomed out and snapped a few shots before I kept walking."

Demi, who was picturing herself hiding behind a bush next to a crouched Selena and her camera, felt a sudden thud at the young Italian's last words that instantly brought her back to the spacious studio where they had spent the night.

"...And?" She asked looking at Selena with expectant eyes.

"And what? I left."

"Didn't you see what he did with the ring? If he threw it in the Seine? Put it back on his finger? Hid it in the pocket inside his jacket?"

Selena briefly moved her shoulders up and down. "No. What fun is there if I know the end to it?"

"What? That's total pants! Why _wouldn't_ you want to know?"

"Because then that would be it. What would make the painting so interesting if I knew what he had done? I would probably not have painted it at all." Demi kept looking at her like Selena was out of her mind. "Not knowing makes my mind wander as to where I can take this picture. There's a reason why you can't tell what he's holding. When I was trying to figure that out that night before zooming in it with the camera, my mind went to far too many places. I put my own personal problems in that man's hands while trying to read him. I put all of my tribulations in his hands. That's what I want people to feel when they see it. I want them to disconnect from the world and think of the infinite possibilities and chances that man's hand is holding. And what he could do with it. But that night when I saw him, before I could linger too long trying to find my own solutions, or even guess what I would do if I was in his position - wether I would throw them in the river and never look back; if I'd keep it in my hands to face them and go after an answer; or if I'd place in my inside pocket and pretend it didn't exist -, I took a few photos and left. I didn't want to share that moment with him. It was _his_ moments. He was there to face his own tribulations and I had nothing to do with it. I left the hostel room I was staying in to see the city, not to deeply angst in my own demons. I have the rest of my life to do that."

Demi blinked at the raven haired girl standing in front of her in all her nude glory.

"You're barmy!"

Selena laughed. "I'm going to take a quick shower and cook us something."

As the Italian turned around to walk to the bathroom, Demi gasped at the few long scratches in her back as a result from when Selena was on top of her body, grinding together what felt like every inch of their cores, making both of them scream in pure physical ecstasy. "Don't. I have to leave." Demi cleared throat after noticing the obscene memories had affected far more than her hippocampus. "It's late already."

Selena walked back to the pale skinned girl, taking her by the hand and walking her to the bathroom. "Is it, though?" She stepped behind the girl and extended an arm to make the shower run. "It's Sunday. I'm sure you have time for brunch." Her left hand moved the black hair from the delicate neck, where her lips slowly landed.

Demi let a very low moan escape her lips when she felt a hand squeeze her right breast ever so softly.

She definitely wasn't going to stay around for brunch, that would be too much. But one _always_ has time for a quickie, especially in the shower.

* * *

A few hours later, just as Selena stepped out of the Tottenham Court Road tube station, her phone vibrated inside the left pocket of her brown leather aviator jacket. A merry finding from the bi-monthly antiques fair in Lincoln. She had gone there countless times while living in Leeds, but when Layla moved out of their shared flat and Selena had to move into the studio, she decided her furniture, as little as it would be, had to match the feeling of the mid-1960's building. So Jennifer and her, along with David, Keith's son, quickly jumped into Selena's boss' impeccably preserved 1941 Dodge WC Series navy blue pickup and drove three hours to Lincoln to buy her furniture and everything else she would need. At one of the stands, an old lady with a heavy American accent took out the jacket from a worn out suitcase just as the trio walked by. Selena's mind instantaneously went back to when she was 12 years old watching Top Gun for the first time with her cousins at one of her relatives' house in San Gimignano, just an hour away from Florence, while the rest of the family was gathered in the backyard after a Sunday lunch. She was obsessed with the aviator sunglasses and leather jacket. The sunglasses she bought when she was 15. The jacket, however, took her years, until she bumped into that old American lady at the Lincolnshire showground. Selena didn't hesitate and payed the £97 the lady was asking for the jacket. It had patches and all! She had been told by the old woman that her late husband was a US Naval Aviator Lieutenant himself, just like Maverick. "Why are you selling a legitimate US Naval aviator jacket?" Selena asked in utter shock. "I recently found out he had a 22 year long affair with the sister of one of his wingmen. That's half the time we were married! I'm selling everything that bastard ever owned."

Selena smirked at the memory fishing the brand new iPhone 4 from her pocket noticing there was an e-mail notification. If she hadn't gotten the phone as a gift from Keith, she would probably still have her beat up Blackberry Curve and not give a shit about it. Mobile phones were something Selena definitely didn't find worthy of a lot of money. Keith had to threaten firing her from her bartender job at the pub if she didn't accept the one he was giving her.

The young painter kept walking down the St. Giles High Street before opening the Gmail app and seeing the e-mail was from one of her favorite professors from Leeds, Mr. Erwin McLean. She saw the pub she was supposed to meet Jennifer at and decided she'd read the e-mail later.

She got inside and took a look around scanning the room in search of her red haired friend. The dimmed, heated lights and the loud Black Sabbath music made it harder for her to concentrate in her task. But just as she freed her right arm from the right sleeve of the jacket, her friend waved at her from a table at the corner of the bar.

"Hiya!" Jennifer smiled when Selena sat down across from her. "You're late."

"I know. I'm sorry. I was working."

Jennifer waved at the waiter asking for another Kronenbourg before looking back at her friend.

"Why? I thought you didn't work on Sundays?"

"Since last week I do. Now my days off are Mondays, when the pub isn't as crowded. I need to save some money, and working on Sundays I get more tips."

"But I thought you were with that gormy Torres girl? And why aren't you working right now? It's barely nine."

"It's slow at the pub tonight so Keith let me go. Dave is covering for me."

"And about the nasty twat?"

"Stop being aggressive." Selena looked up at the waiter and smiled when he placed the pint in front of her. "What do you want to know?"

"How was it? You bonked her, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." Jennifer raised her eyebrows expecting the Italian to spill the details. "It was the dog's bollocks, like you British people say."

"So she's good?"

"She's far more than good, Jen. A bag of girls I've been with could learn a thing or two from Demi."

"Well, that's no surprise. The girl has been shagged by more than half of Europe's population - men and women."

"Don't be insensitive. I'm sure you're exaggerating. She is very experienced, but you just hate her for no reason."

"Oh, dear, I don't hate her. I dislike twats in general, nothing personal." Jen let out a fake grin before taking a sip of her beer. "So? Are you going to see her again?"

Selena shrugged. "I don't think so." Her redhead friend frowned looking at her with questioning eyes. "We took a shower when we woke up and after she got dressed she said she had to leave. I asked her if I could have her number and she just smiled and said no."

"She said no?"

Selena nodded. "She said if we ever bump into one another ever again, she'd be more than happy to go back to my bed, but only under those circumstances." Jennifer scoffed feeling outraged, which made Selena chuckle. "She said she doesn't go out with girls when she's in the UK because it's too risky."

"Bullcrap! Everyone knows she shags girls!"

"I assume her parents don't, that's why it's risky. Not for the people. She didn't seem to be very worried about our everlasting flirting at the gallery before we left."

"She's a filthy liar. She won't go out with you because you're a nobody."

"Thank you."

"You know what I mean, Lena. You're an unknown foreign painter who works at a pub. She'd never want to be seen with you."

"I'm easy. I only wanted to be polite, honestly. I hate dates, they're terribly dull. All I wanted was an excuse to bang her again."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself last night because that was a one off." Selena shrugged and took a long gulp of her beer before putting the pint down and smirk in a devious way. "What?"

The brunette cleared her throat and leaned closer to her friend, who did the same. "She left me her panties."

"_What_?!"

Selena laughed. "After we took a shower she put on her her clothes and left her panties on the floor, where they had been since last night. When I asked her about it she smiled, took them from the floor and placed them in my hand saying I could keep them since she had just taken a shower and she would feel filthy to be wearing them again."

"Oh, and leaving you her used underwear isn't filthy? Bleeding hell, Lena." Jen widened her eyes. "I bet they're Jean Paul Gaultier or some random expensive designer."

"They're Guia La Bruna."

"Those are even more expensive. Why don't you sell it on the Internet instead of working for tips?"

Selena smiled. "I'd rather keep them."

"That's disgusting."

"It's not. It's a significant souvenir of a memorable night."

"I bet the night was as disgusting as the souvenir."

"Are you saying that just because I can still taste Demi Torres in my beer or out of pure assumption?"

"I'm regurgitating on the inside."

"Yuck."

"You're nasty."

* * *

Meanwhile, all the way across the city, Demi was enjoying dinner at the Suksan in Chelsea. She was never one to be into Thai food, but it was a birthday celebration of one of her and Alyson's good friend from the only-girl Queenswood School. Demi had slept throughout most of the day coming back from that dirt bucket end Selena lived in, so she nearly made it on time for the celebration. Fortunately, Alyson had called her two hours ago asking if she would want her to bring any of the goodies recently brought from Colombia by their Irish dealer that used his posh sailor alter ego as a cover up to bring all kinds of numbing substances from across the ocean. "Bring them where?" Asked a sleepy, clueless Demi to her best friend. After Alyson's answer, she barely had an hour to get ready and be at the Thai restaurant located a couple of minutes away from her former apartment and a little further from her parents' house.

"I'm going out for a cigarette, girls." Demi announced with a smile. "Aly, mind keeping me company?"

Alyson nodded and reached for her own cigarette box inside her purse before walking outside with Demi. They walked a little to the side of the restaurant instead of standing in the front like the rest of the smokers.

"Sometimes I feel like you can read my mind. Your timing was on point." Alyson giggled fishing a very thin and perfectly rolled joint out of the metal case. "Coco puffs or regular baccy solid spliff?"

Demi sighed, weighing her options. She knew she was going straight home after that dinner since the girls were apparently in no mood to extend the night at a bar like she was, so the coco puffs' - the way Demi and her friends called joints with a mix of hashish and freebased cocaine - high would go to waste. On the other hand, she was really in the mood for something a little stronger than a spliff with tobacco and hashish. But if her night was going to resume itself at a pricey Thai restaurant in Chelsea, the latter was probably the best option. Unless... "Would you go out on a bender with me after we're done here?"

Alyson raised her big hazel eyes at her friend. She didn't have to do anything in the morning, unlike the rest of their friends inside the restaurant who already had jobs and busy lives, but she knew Demi was supposed to go job hunting. "Shouldn't you start looking for a job?"

Demi rolled her eyes. "Yes. But what difference will it make if I start tomorrow or the day after? I'm broke anyway. Watcha say?"

"Fine. Coco puffs, then, yeah?"

"Please." Demi smiled handing her personalized Clipper lighter to her friend.

"How can you be wanting to piss up tonight if you're broke?" Alyson questioned while holding the smoke inside her lungs.

"What better way to forget my problems than getting pissed with my best friend and cheap beer at disgusting pubs?"

Alyson laughed and shook her head. "You need money, darling. Urgently. You know you won't last too long living with that ridiculous allowance or a regular salary." Alyson took another hit before handing the rolled up cigarette to Demi.

"I know. I have to think of something. I can't maintain myself with so little money. All I wanted was a job where I didn't necessarily have to do much and yet make bags of money."

"You're an art history graduate, Demi."

"...And?"

"_And_ your father knows a fair amount of the biggest art dealers and gallery owners in Europe, especially in the UK. You could try to get a job as an intern or assistant with one of them. I'm sure they wouldn't deny your father's request."

Demi took a drag, closing her eyes in the process and enjoying the hot smoke incinerating her lungs. "He said he's not going to help me, Alyson."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I would have to either find a way to contact those people or find an undiscovered amazingly talented new artist to represent. Which is impossible since every good talent in London is already booked." She blew out the smoke and passed the joint back to her friend.

"...What about that girl you banged last night?" Alyson asked after a few seconds and a long drag. "Is she booked?"

Demi furrowed her eyebrows, entering a deep thinking mode.

Selena _was_ amazingly talented. And as far as Demi knew, she had yet to find a dealer for her work.

"She's very, very good, actually..." The brunette said while her mind was still in full speed already listing the galleries around Europe whose owners interests matched Selena's peculiar style.

"Why don't you make her an offer?"

"Aly... It would probably take too long for Selena's work to be worth a pound. She's too young, completely unknown."

"She knows Flor Campana. And so do you. I'm sure Flor would be willing to support a new artist, especially being one of Keith Lowell's protégés, and a new dealer, daughter of Eddie Torres."

Demi took the third of what was left of the blunt and took a deep drag. "That would be a start, I guess..."

"Yeah, it would."

"But I don't want to date her."

Alyson chuckled. The mixed substances already starting to kick in, making her surroundings and her thoughts slow down in pace. The wind feeling oddly colder all of a sudden. "Is she that bad of a shag?"

"Au contraire, honey. She's incredible, mind numbing. Each time she whispered italian words and sentences in my ear I went insane."

"Even better! You will make money, build a career, show your father what you can do and have amazing sex when you're off commercial time."

"Can I kill it?" Demi asked showing her smiley friend the last bit of the spliff. Alyson nodded and waved her hand, at which Demi placed it back in between her lips taking yet another long drag before throwing it to the ground before the ember could completely extinguish. "Selena is a big talent and an amazing fuck, but it would still take too long. I am penniless now, Alyson. She would have to be Rembrandt good for me to start making money in a short period of time."

Alyson let out a breath starting to get annoyed to be wasting her high with such pointless topic, all because her friend was too stubborn and spoiled to go after a real job like any normal person would under her circumstances. "It's your best option. If you still don't want that, then bunk up with Donovan in his boat and sail back and forth twice every month with a shitload of drugs risking to get arrested by the Interpol."

"Don't be stupid."

"_You're_ being stupid. That girl Selena is your best option, Demi. Work with her until you find something better. She's an amateur, you don't have to sign a contract. Think of it as something temporary until you can get your life back on track."

"You're right. I'm acting like an idiot."

"Ring her tomorrow and tell her about your offer."

"I don't have her number."

Alyson took a deep breath and shook her head.

"You know where she works and where she lives. Maybe you will have to pay her a visit some time this week. Come on. Let's get inside. I want to get poorly plastered tonight."

* * *

When Selena finally layed down in her bed later that night, she thought of Demi. They hadn't talked much after leaving the gallery, so Selena still knew nearly nothing about the girl other than what Jennifer had told her. Selena's judgment of character was never very reliable. She always thought and expected the best from people, that's what she had been taught growing up. And sometimes Selena regretted it. For being so naïve most of her life, the young italian had been let down countless times. Although she matured considerably after moving to a different country, having to do everything by herself and dealing with strangers, Selena still used Seneca's _homo, sacra res homini_¹ as a life motto in opposition to the common _homo homini lupus_², that seemed to be the entire world's motto. She found balance. But she was still torn as to what to think about Demi Torres, who definitely didn't fit into the kind-by-heart category, but Selena couldn't make out if she was the opposite extreme quite yet like Jennifer made her and her wealthy friends out to be.

Shaking off those wandering thoughts from her mind, Selena reached for her phone on the shelf above her bed, remembering she had yet to read the e-mail Professor McLean had sent her.

"_Dear Selena,_

_how have you been doing? Better than the last time we spoke, I hope._

_I have been meaning to contact you for a few weeks now, but the book tour and the classes schedules this semester have made my life an utter chaos, making it rather difficult to even write a simple e-mail. I appologize for that._

_However, I'm glad to say I have been granted a fortnights holiday, since the classes are off with Professor Longchamps for their traditional field trip, and my publisher agreed to put the tour on hold so I can properly enjoy my days off and rest. I will be in London for three nights, arriving next Tuesday and was hoping we would have a chance to chat. I have an amazing opportunity for you. I spoke to one of my dear friends, Lola Anthibes, whose granddaughter owns a small gallery in Bethnal Green. Ashley Anthibes, Lola's granddaughter and the galley owner, agreed to put together a small vernissage for you after I showed her your portfolio. We would have to meet her while I'm in the city so you two can agree on the details, although I took the liberty to discuss a few of them in advance. But I would rather tell you about them in person._

_Hopefully you are as excited as I am. I'm looking forward to seeing some of your new work as well. I presume there are a lot, considering it has been over four months since we last met._

_I will contact you as soon as I get to London. The train arrives around noon, I will be staying in my apartment in Notting Hill._

_I will see you soon._

_Cordially,_

_Erwin M._"

Selena felt her cheeks hurt from the huge smile playing on her lips all the while she had been reading her former Professor's e-mail. If it wasn't past midnight and she didn't have to wake up early the next morning, she would most likely head to the Lowell's residence just a few streets away from her studio and celebrate with her boss and his 18 year old son.

Finally. Her first exhibition. And at one of Bethnal Green's charming galleries.

Selena let out a long, heartfelt sigh. It was all happening. Everything she longed for since an early age when painting Coco, her long gone German Shepard, while he inconciously posed for her every morning when he layed down in the front yard enjoying a sunbath.

Making a mental note to google Ashley Anthibes' gallery before she left for work the next day, Selena fell asleep with a shadow of that big smile that had not yet left her lips.

* * *

**¹"Man is something sacrade for man". Seneca: Moral Epistles to Lucilius, letter 95, line 33.**  
**²"Man is a wolf to man". Plautus: Asinaria.**


End file.
